


The Disillusionment of Control

by TheLittleMermaidDJ



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23477491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleMermaidDJ/pseuds/TheLittleMermaidDJ
Summary: Trust the profile, they said. It is your greatest weapon. But a dangerous miscalculation in the profile has dire consequences as the team scrambles to save one of their own. Before its too late.
Relationships: Spencer Reid & The BAU Team
Comments: 9
Kudos: 194





	1. He’ll Be Back Again Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting here - no idea what's going on so bear with me! Isolation made me write this in just about two weeks, since binging the entire series again, so work is complete and will be posted regulary! This story takes place very late season 5-early season 6, so possible spoilers up until that point!  
> This is also posted on FF.net  
> Enjoy!

“ _Life is to be lived, not controlled; and humanity is won by continuing to play in face of certain defeat. _” – Ralph Ellison__  
~o~o~o~o~  
_Seattle, Washington ___

____The sirens wailed noisily as the police car sped down the paved road, flashing the stark red and blue colors at every pedestrian and biker by the street walk._ _ _ _

____Cars on the left side of the street filtered to the side to get out of the way of the racing vehicle. The man’s knuckles tightened around the wheel of his own car, so taut that the skin went completely white. His heart sprinted like a racehorse, sending the blood pumping loudly in his hears. His palms were covered in sweat and sent his hands sliding on the surface of the steering wheel. It almost sent the vehicle skidding into the next lane. He corrected the car with a jerk._ _ _ _

____He couldn’t panic now._ _ _ _

____He was in control. He was in complete and utter control and he couldn’t do anything to jeopardize that._ _ _ _

____He knew what he had to do now. It all seemed to abundantly clear. It was practically ridiculous that he hadn’t spotted it earlier. He knew he had slipped and acted out of fear, but now he knew it was only his subconscious urging him to act. Just like before. He felt like he had screwed up, yet it only led him to greater things. This was right. This was true. Why else, did it feel so good? It would all be alright in the end._ _ _ _

____That FBI agent had rattled him, for sure, but he was confident this was how it was all supposed to happen._ _ _ _

____He was meant to meet him._ _ _ _

____He was meant to _take _him.___ _ _ _

______He stopped the car as the light switched to red at the next intersection. As the vehicle slowed, the man risked a glance to the backseat. There was no one sitting there at the moment, but his focus wasn’t on the seats. His grey eyes shifted to the blanketed lump taking up the entire floor. The thin, eggshell white blanket had shifted, he noticed. He had to find a quiet parking lot to fix it before someone managed to properly peek inside. The fabric had fallen down to reveal the limp features of the unconscious figure cramped onto the floor. The man was half his age yet was significantly taller. It had taken some doing getting him quickly into the car before anyone had walked in on them. His long legs were folded underneath the front seat to make the slender, lanky agent fit the width of the car, without his knees poking up too far. The crimson blood shone brightly as it had coated the entire left side of the lax face._ _ _ _ _ _

______The man was worried he had hit the agent too hard. He had had a tire iron in his hands when he had made his decision. He had had to do it quickly, so he had just swung it, adrenaline fueling his arms. Though he had heard the agent groan once or twice, so at the very least he was alive. He had also used the gas, just to be safe. He didn’t want any more surprises._ _ _ _ _ _

______He wanted this to end exactly as he had planned. And by now, he was practically giddy with cautious excitement._ _ _ _ _ _

______It was a very fitting way to end._ _ _ _ _ _

______He would end this on his terms and what better way to do that than with an accomplished FBI agent. And at such a young age no less. It was perfect. He couldn’t help the timid smile stretching over his thin lips. The light turned green and the man pressed the gas to continue his journey towards his destination._ _ _ _ _ _

______Content and at peace, he drove off with the unconscious form of Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid._ _ _ _ _ _


	2. There’s Never a Reason Why

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Onwards! We are gonna slow it down a bit but fear not. The next chapter will perk right back up! Btw, chapter titles are lyrics from the song "Burnout" by Calby, awesome tune if anyone wants to expand their musical horizon a bit!

_Three days earlier ___

__Dr. Spencer Reid examined the photo of the latest crime scene._ _

__The photo depicted a burned ramshackle cabin, nothing but charred wood and ashes left after the flames had torn it apart. Though that particular picture didn’t include the details of the victim inside, Reid knew she was present in there. Placed and tied to a chair in the middle of room, helpless to escape as the fire had burned her to a crisp._ _

__The file on the table in front of him was filled to the brim with several more photos of burned victims and charred cabins, all the case files and witness testimonies crammed into several manila folders, copied six times so that each FBI agent on board the BAU private jet could gain the full picture before they landed at their destination of Seattle, Washington. Seattle PD had called them in after finding four people, three women and one man, each tied to a chair and burned alive in small cabins or shacks. Nothing obvious connected the four victims other than being reported missing and later burned to cinders. Then yesterday, a pro-bono health clinic had been set ablaze, the fire having consumed the entire building along with the 7 doctors and nurses along with one janitor. That had been the final straw._ _

__Morgan, sitting directly across from Reid, eyed the picture of the charred clinic, the walls black with soot and the roof completely caved in. “What makes PD so sure this fire is connected to the rest?”_ _

__It was Hotch who answered. He sat on the couch opposite the four-persons seats, the serious expression present as always on his face. “The accelerant used is the same as the other burnings, so for now, they are treating it as related.”_ _

__“So, he’s escalating?” Prentiss voiced aloud._ _

__“It would seem so, but going from burning single persons in secluded cabins to setting an entire building on fire in public view is a very rapid escalation for this kind of arsonist,” Rossi remarked, his trained eye scanning one of the case files in his lap._ _

__“Maybe his intended victim worked at the clinic and it was simply the quickest way to them. In 1990, Julio Gonzalez set fire to a bar in the Bronx, killing 87 people just to get at his ex-girlfriend who worked there at the time,” Reid interjected._ _

__“Whether this UnSub is escalating or not, he has already killed 12 people and show no signs of stopping,” Hotch gravely stated. “Be ready. We land in 10 minutes.”  
_________________________________________ _

__The peace lasted for about 12 hours since their touchdown in Seattle._ _

__The BAU team split up to visit each crime scene, gleaning what they could from the remote ramshackle cabins in the suburbs along with the location of the health clinic in the downtown area. They gathered every piece of information, analyzed every piece of the puzzle, worked the case to deliver a profile of their UnSub. While victimology and the geographic profile started to get clearer and clearer, all lending to the bigger, final picture, major gaps still remained. There was still something that didn’t entirely add up and the gaps were big enough that it rendered their profile incomplete and lacking. Local law enforcement was breathing down their necks, as well as pressure from higher up the chain. Hotch kept them at bay the best he could to allow his team to work in peace but the longer it took, the higher the pressure._ _

__It was immensely frustrating, like the answer was lurking just out of their reach._ _

__And then the sixth call came in._ _

__When Reid exited the rented SUV with Prentiss and Morgan at his heels, he didn’t expect the sight that met them. Instead of another blackened office like a normal escalation suggested, it was a simple garage by an abandoned, soon-to-be-demolished house. The smoke was gone, and the Seattle fire department was calmly packing up their gear, glancing at the FBI agents walking past. The arid smell still tore through Reid’s nose and the harsh burn stung his eyes as they were cleared to enter the burned-down garage. Water trickled from the torn roof and down what remained of the walls, dripping rhythmically onto the floor. Various debris, from both the fire and the firefighters, littered the ground and crunched under their boots as the profilers moved further into the garage._ _

__There were no mass casualties this time, only another single victim. A crooked chair was positioned in the middle of the room, hot flames having licked the metal black. The charred bones of the latest victim sat leaned over, fabric of singed clothes still clinging onto the skeleton. The stench of burned flesh assaulted Reid’s nostrils and made his stomach churn. He ran his eyes over the latest crime scene, bewildered at what he was seeing. The confusion was mirrored in the faces of his colleagues._ _

__“So, we’re back to just one victim now?” he voiced his thoughts._ _

__“FD didn’t find any other victims,” Prentiss continued as she surveyed the scene. “Same MO as the others; small decrepit place, single victim on the single chair in the middle of the room; small controlled fire.”_ _

__“Looks like a male skeleton,” Reid observed as he scrutinized the bones._ _

__“This doesn’t make any sense. A de-escalation never happens with these kinds of UnSubs,” Morgan supplied._ _

__“So, the clinic fire isn’t related after all?” Emily asked to no one in particular._ _

__“The MO deviates, but the clinic fire still fits the geographical profile,” Reid countered. “What are the odds of someone just happening to start a fire using the same accelerant within the 20-mile radius of four arson-killings?”_ _

__“What? No exact numbers of those odds?”_ _

__“Actually, given the likelihood of- “_ _

__“Rhetorical question, kid,” Morgan quickly cut him off before the spew of numbers that he had no hope of ever keeping track of exited Reid’s mouth. “So, same UnSub, different MOs… Something doesn’t fit, that’s for sure.”_ _

__“All the fires are small and controlled, in isolated areas, even the clinic was limited and contained, yet there was something violent and different about that fire. Almost like, a spur of the moment,” Emily mused._ _

__“Victims of opportunity… Usually a sign that the UnSub is spiraling, or…”_ _

___“Panicking,” Reid finished._  
________________________________________  
The three profilers returned to the police precinct. 

__The rest of their team had already gathered around their designated table in the bullpen. Around it, two boards were filled to the brim with victim overviews, a map of Seattle with various pins and sketched marks as well as written statements and pictures. Morgan, Reid and Prentiss stalked over to the table, their quick steps fueled by eagerness to share their findings and thoughts._ _

__“We think the clinic fire might have been a response to something gone wrong with victim number five,” Prentiss shared the second they were within earshot._ _

__“Stephen Henderson? I thought you just returned from his charred remains,” Rossi asked from his position in one of the chairs facing them._ _

__“That would technically be victim number six,” Reid said. “We believe he found another victim, only he didn’t get the chance to burn them this time. Something happened that interfered with his process – he didn’t get the release he needed so he … acted out.”_ _

__Hotch didn’t hesitate as he leaned over the table to the conference call telephone and pressed speed dial to a number, they all knew by heart. It was picked up after the first ring._ _

__“ _The Oracle of all that is Holy and Good, speak and be heard, my minions. _”___ _

____“Garcia, we need a list of hospitalized people in the 24 hours prior the clinic fire within the Seattle area,” Hotch said, not even a twitch in his facial features at the controversial greeting._ _ _ _

____“ _Anything else you wanna sprinkle over that request, oh wise leader, otherwise that’s gonna be a mighty long list, _” came the rapid response, Garcia’s nimble fingers already clicking away on her keyboard on the other end of the line.___ _ _ _

______“Exclude shootings and stabbings, anything related to regular city violence. It might present itself as a mugging or assault, something that would look like a kidnapping gone wrong, but leave the victim incapacitated, otherwise we would have heard about it by now,” Morgan suggested._ _ _ _ _ _

______“But only include those with prominent work profiles or recent professional or educational accomplishments,” Prentiss added._ _ _ _ _ _

______Garcia’s efficient typing flowed through the speaker at the instructions. Then, “ _Nothing, my doves. _”___ _ _ _ _ _

________“Try widening your search to DOAs or those pronounced dead on the scene,” Reid added._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Garcia worked as silence stretched until her cheery voice echoed through the speaker again. “ _Boy Wonder shoots and scores: I got one Darren Mills, pronounced Dead on Arrival, 6 hours prior to the clinic fire. He was found by the road, looking like he had been dumped from a moving vehicle. Ambulance picked him up and he died of his injuries on route to the hospital. _”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________“And what did he do?” Hotch asked._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________A beat of silence. “ _He was a lawyer and… oh my, he was just nominated for an award by the American Bar Association for his work. _”___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Rossi shared a look with his team members around the table. “I think we’re ready to deliver the profile.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	3. And If I Let Him Out of Sight for Just One Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longest chapter of all, but stick with it! You're in for one hell of a surprise (or not, if you've been paying attention) ;-)

The Seattle PD bullpen was quickly filled to the brim with street cops, police detectives and the chiefs of four local fire precincts.

They took up every available space; desk chairs, the table surfaces and leaned casually up against the walls. Their tentative and frustrated eyes were all aimed at the six FBI agents gathered in front of the conference table that had served as their office the past day and a half.

JJ took charge of the briefing first. "For now, we ask you not to share this profile you're about to hear with the media or anyone not associated with the investigation. Thank you."

The communications liaison pulled into the background and her profilers took the floor. Hotch took a step forward, gaining the attention of every tense law enforcement officer in the room.

"The man we're looking for is a white male, somewhere in his late 30s to mid-40s. He most likely has a low-paying job that gives limited interaction with people and renders him practically invisible. He barely leaves an impression on most people, and if he does, it's rarely positive."

Morgan took over: "People would describe him as quiet, plain, conflict-averse – your average joe. Some would even call him boring. But underneath that docile exterior, hides a frustrated and volatile man. He targets low-risk victims. Their lifestyles don't place them in immediate danger, which means we are dealing with a man of intelligence. All his victims have one thing in common: they all share recent professional or academic accomplishments, putting them in the limelight."

"He's been ignored and overlooked all of his life and because of that, his need for control has been severely heightened, hence why he's targeting these people, who have all gained high recognition," Prentiss continued. "He doesn't profile like a standard arsonist, who typically uses fire to make statements in society. For our UnSub, fire is his way of regaining control. It's his signature; his murder weapon, just like a gun or a knife."

"Fire is extremely volatile and incredibly hard to dominate. Being able to utilize and harness this power is what gives him the ultimate form of control, over his own life as well as his victims," Reid explained.

"This obsessive need to govern everything and the imbalance with his otherwise submissive personality will make it hard for him to maintain steady, long-term relationships," Rossi carried on. "That being said, don't dismiss a married man at first glance. He could still be married to a dominant wife, suppressing and taking away this control. Look for someone who recently lost control of an aspect in his life; The figurative or literal loss of a family member, an accident leaving either himself or someone close to him impaired or disfigured."

"One last thing, and most importantly, this man is prone to panic. Whenever a situation occurs, he can't manage or if he feels cornered, he will lash out. That's why he changed his MO with the clinic fire. His fourth victim, Darren Mills, escaped before the UnSub could get the gratification of burning him alive. He therefore torched a health clinic, all the medical workers inside fitting his victimology of accomplished and acclaimed targets, getting off on being able to control that much fire in one go," Hotch finished.

"But that fire wasn't exactly controlled?" a fire department chief asked, a frown curling his dark eyebrows.

"Not in the normal sense as with the other fires, but it also didn't spread to any of the neighboring buildings either, at least partly giving the illusion of the control he craves," Reid answered.

"Whether he planned for that or not, it satisfied his needs and allowed him to continue his killing spree. Until we figure out how he finds and immobilizes his targets, he will continue stalking and burning his victims.

Thank you."  
\-----------------------------------------

Reid rubbed his eyes while he desperately tried to suppress an incoming yawn.

The words had started blurring together on the pages as the night had started and begun its slow journey towards the dawn. None of them had gone to their hotel yet. With 13 dead, limited leads and zero suspects every single one of them worked overtime.

Reid scanned page after page of case files and possible victim lists, as he desperately searched for a pattern. They had compiled lists of both possible victims and possible UnSubs, but they were long, and it was tedious work to go through. So far, they had come up empty. The unfortunate truth was that without a new murder there was nothing much they could glean from what they already knew.

JJ wandered into the bullpen, a sheet of paper in her hands.

"Medical examiner just sent over the autopsy report on Darren Mills, our escapee," she said as she came within earshot. Once she had her colleagues' attention, she carried on. "Several broken bones, bumps and bruises, including the head fracture that caused the fatal brain damage. All consistent with a highspeed collision with the ground. However, she did manage to find remnants of halothane in his system."

"Halothane? Never heard of it," Prentiss frowned. Her gaze automatically drifted to the resident genius by her side.

"It's a general anesthetic, commonly used in surgeries when initiating or maintaining anesthesia. It's one of the few drugs that doesn't stimulate saliva production, so it's easier for the doctors to intubate the patient," Reid supplied casually, like it was the most common thing to know.

"How is it administered?" Rossi wanted to know.

"Usually by inhalation."

The veteran profiler switched his attention to the entire team. "That's how he's controlling them – he knocks them out and takes them to the cabins, where he can watch them burn in peace."

Hotch turned towards his communications officer. "How quickly can you set up a press conference?"

"You wanna release the profile to the media?" Morgan questioned.

"Won't releasing the profile make him panic?" JJ added in, although she had already taken out her phone, fidgeting with the small device.

"He won't stop killing," Hotch explained. "If he panics, he's more likely to make a mistake. But if we're lucky someone out there recognizes him by the description. Hopefully, we'll catch him before he hurts someone else."

"Okay. I can get us on the morning news, first thing," JJ determinedly said.

"Good," Hotch affirmed. "The sooner we release the profile, the sooner we'll get him off the streets."  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The profile flowed into the media in the early morning and by noon, every local news outlet, radio and TV station had showcased the profile in one way or another. Then the waiting game started.

Neither the FBI agents or the local police officers seemed able to remain still and relaxed during that time. Both waited anxiously on what would occur first, a witness or another murder.

Hotch found his thoughts constantly drifting to his decision. He didn't second-guess it – this job would drive him insane if he did. But he still remained apprehensive. He just hoped his decision to publicize the profile didn't get an entire office building murdered. He eyed his whole team. Morgan and Prentiss were going through the list of victims from the clinic fire, trying to spot a single potential target in the pile. If it was just a way of getting to a single person, their file could reveal the UnSub, though it seemed the entire clinic had been the target and not one individual. Reid was reviewing all the calls that had already come in from the established hotline, discerning useful from fruitless tips. It was a long list of possible candidates – most was worthless but if a gem had been hidden in there, his fastest and smartest agent could locate it quicker than any of the others. Rossi wad going through the file Garcia had compiled of their latest victim, Stephen Henderson, including known associates and work history to see if he had come across the UnSub somehow. Every flagged name was listed and eventually compared that would narrow down their suspect pile, which so far consisted of every 35-to-45-year-old male in Seattle.

The time read 2:06 pm, when the last team member walked towards their table, her boots on the floor echoing in the apprehensive silence. Hotch was the first to look up at JJ.

"I just talked to our latest victim's roommate," she informed, a notepad clutched in her fingers. "According to her, Stephen called a cab from 'Seattle Yellow Cabs', on the night of the murder. He said he was going on a date, but she didn't get a name or an address."

"Five hours later, we find his burned body," Rossi stated.

Hotch opened his mouth to speak but didn't get any further than opening his lips before he was interrupted by one of the detectives, officer Amelia Sanderson, an urgent look shining in her eyes.

"A woman just walked in there, wanting to speak to the FBI agents in charge. She said, she recognized the profile on the news."

Hotch was almost taken aback as the rate of new information soared and a cautious hope dared flare up in his chest. He quickly took charge of the situation.

"JJ, you and I will talk to the witness. Morgan, you and Reid to go the cab company, find out where Stephen Henderson was going."

"Alright, let's go, Pretty Boy," Morgan said and discarded his paper coffee cup in a trashcan on his way out.

Reid put down the names list he was holding and hurried after Morgan's long, powerful strides through the police precinct and together they disappeared out the door.

Hotch and JJ got the name of the witness, Lila Wilcoxx, and was directed to a conference room where a middle-aged woman had been placed in a chair. She was nervously fiddling with the red handbag in her lap, looking deep in thought. She jumped in her seat as the door opened and the two agents walked in.

The woman smiled sheepishly at her own reaction.

"Ms. Wilcoxx, thank you for coming. My name is Jennifer Jareau, this is Agent Aaron Hotchner," JJ greeted warmly. "You said, you had some information for us?"

"Yes, sorry, I'm a little jumpy – it's not every day you found out you went on a date with a serial killer," Lila Wilcoxx said with a nervous laugh.

"So that's how you believe you know this man?" Hotch enquired, taking a seat opposite their witness.

"Yeah, I … I lost my husband five years ago and my kids kept pressuring me into the whole online dating world. He was one of the first dates I went on and it kind of scared me off it for a while."

"What happened?" JJ asked.

"We were having dinner at the restaurant and he ordered one of those steaks that's barbequed in front of you. He seemed like a regular guy. Quiet, shy. But it was like he was hiding something under the surface, but I just wrote it off as my own nerves, you know? But he watched the chef light the steak on fire at the table and the look in his eyes… It was like… he enjoyed it. He couldn't tear his eyes away from it… It was very unnerving. I excused myself as quickly as I could. He didn't exactly take it nicely when I left. I completely forgot about him until I saw your description on the news."

"Do you remember his name?" Hotch asked, when the story was done.

Ms. Wilcoxx nodded affirmatively. "I only got his first name, but I think it was Jeffrey something."

This was definitely their UnSub – the reactions fitted the profile and no doubt Lila Wilcoxx was fortunate that it hadn't progressed any further. But the net was closing in and for the first time since getting the case, Hotch was confident it was almost over.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The workshop of Seattle Yellow Cab was bustling with activity with Morgan and Reid entered.

Bright yellow cabs stood neatly in a line, some ready to take off if a caller came in, others raised on platforms or their hoods popped open. Mechanics and drivers were repairing the vehicles, discussing the best course of action. The commotion of raised voices and mechanical equipment resounded deafeningly in the large, open warehouse. Employees milled to and from the loud break room over on the right. They all eyed the two FBI agents heading for the small office that had been stuffed into the opposite corner, its blinds and wooden door open and receiving. Morgan took the lead as he knocked on the open door, gaining the attention of the grey-haired manager sitting by his desk, running through stacks of bills and invoices. He looked up at the knock, his eyes darting one man to the other questioningly.

"Mr. Roberts? I'm FBI Special Agent Derek Morgen, we spoke on the phone," Morgan introduced himself as he moved into the office, Reid trailing in behind him.

David Roberts nonchalantly examined each man, his gaze lingering slightly confused on the slender frame of Spender Reid. It was a common occurrence whenever they introduced themselves as FBI, and to Reid's credit, he simply brushed off the occasional stares with an equally curious, innocent look and Morgan was always silently amused at the kid's affinity of proving people wrong.

Roberts quickly gathered himself after that. "Right… So, what can we here at Seattle Yellow Cab do for the FBI?"

"A young man, Stephen Henderson, used your services at approximately 6:45 pm the night before last, and we would like to talk to the driver who drove him," Reid spoke.

"Why?"

"Because Stephen Henderson was found murdered and your driver might be the last person to have seen him alive. Or at the very least known where he was going," Morgan answered.

The manager paled significantly. "Jesus. Okay, let me just check who was around then. Do you have the phone number he used?"

Reid handed him a piece of paper with the registered phone number they had gotten off the roommate. Roberts accepted it and began typing the number into the system with one finger delicately hitting each button of the keyboard. He pressed enter and the three men waited for the computer to load silently.

Then, "Okay, it looks like the driver is… Jeff Michaels," the manager delivered the information from his computer screen. He looked up at the two FBI agents again. "You're in luck – Jeff's out back, fixing a flat tire on his cab. You want me to get him for you?"

"No, we'll find him. Thank you."

Reid was in front when they began their trek to the small exit in the back, where the garage was located, his long legs having put him at quite a distance from Morgan. Therefore, it was only Derek who heard the manager call out for them from his office doorway, his rough voice almost drowned in all the commotion coming from both people and the mechanical repairs of the vehicles.

The dark-skinned agent stopped and turned as Roberts came jogging towards him. He let Reid walk on ahead. The manager caught up and, slightly winded, said, "I know you only want information from him, but be gentle with Jeff, alright? He's a little on the shy side, and can overreact a little if he's spooked, so two FBI guys barging in there, acting like he's a suspect… Just take it easy, alright?"

Morgan's instincts tickled, his subconscious lightly whispered something in his ear, as he digested the manager's words. It almost seemed like Roberts was trying to warn him… yet it could simply be a boss looking out for his subordinates. Either way, something didn't feel entirely right about it. Morgan had learned a long time ago to trust his gut and this couldn't be ignored. He thanked the man nonetheless and made his way out back, his senses a bit more alert than before.

The repair shop was an open backyard, with only pent roofs to protect the vehicles from the elements. Hoses, pressure gauges and petrol filling stations were lined up against the fence under the roof. The elongated, tin gates that lead onto the paved street beyond the fence stood wide open, the street cars buzzing by outside. One water hose hadn't been curled up by its station like the rest but instead lay discarded on the ground, its nozzle lazily dripping water out onto the pavement. The yard was completely deserted. There was no Jeff Michaels. There was no cab. More importantly, there was no sign of Reid either.

"Reid?" Morgan called tryingly.

Nothing was silence answered.

"Reid?" Morgan tried again, this time his voice demanding and loud. His trained eyes scanned the entire garage and he went further into yard to spot any signs of the younger man. The slight, nagging feeling developed into one of trepidation. His hand hovered over his gun holster.

"Reid!" he called.

He knew it was a desperate attempt. There were virtually no hiding places out here. Nowhere for anyone to hide. Reid was gone. Morgan spun on his heel, inspecting the area while he felt his panic slowly rising. Something by the wall of the building caught his eye and he stalked towards it, fear growing with every step.

Reid's revolver had been carelessly tossed onto the ground along with his credentials badge. A deep, heavy pit settled in his stomach at the sight.

Morgan's heart constricted painfully at what else was next to it.

Blood.


	4. But I Went in Too Deep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two small references to 'Revelations' (and the aftermath) - spot them if you can!

Hotch grimly surveyed the scene.

Police cars lined the entire street, their lights flashing blue and red even as the sirens had turned off. Two black, FBI-issued SUVs stood parked by the curb. Cab drivers and mechanics were all gathered outside, looking confused and impatient. Hotch determinedly walked towards the large industrial building housing Seattle Yellow Cabs, the milling police officers quickly parting to allow the disgruntled unit chief through.

Hotch walked past JJ and Prentiss, who were talking to the cab manager, David Roberts. The older man had his arms wrapped around himself, his nails absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of the sleeve of his flannel shirt. ' _Nervous, disbelieving, uncomfortable _', Hotch's mind supplied unwillingly. The local crime scene unit were in the repair shop out back, examining the crime scene for any forensic clues.__

___Crime scene… ____ _

____It didn't matter how long he had done this job. The burden of team leader had never felt any heavier than it did under circumstances such as these. They had provided the profile but somehow missed a vital aspect. Low paying-job, invisible… A cab driver would seem an almost obvious choice. It also allowed a perfect opportunity to stalk and incapacitate his victims without raising any suspicions. At the very least, he should have considered the possibility, especially when the cab company got involved. Instead, he had sent only two, unprepared FBI agents in there. Now one was gone. The other was sitting on the couch of a now-empty break room, staring despairingly at two items clutched tightly in his hands._ _ _ _

____"Morgan," Hotch said as he sat down opposite his subordinate. His eyes were immediately drawn to the silver revolver and the FBI credentials on Morgan's palms. Reid's youthful features smiled awkwardly up at him from the odd angle. The picture was nothing more than seven years old and while the young agent still greatly resembled the gangly youth on the ID, Reid was far from the same man as he was back then._ _ _ _

____"He was right there, Hotch," Morgan muttered, his gaze never leaving Reid's tossed weapon and ID. The guilt and anger radiated from the younger agent. Hotch felt similar feelings, though for different reasons, but he understood completely. But he needed to reel his agent in and allow him to refocus on the case at hand. It had always been the priority to catch the UnSub before he hurt someone else, but now that drive became stronger and more urgent than ever. And he needed every single agent at his disposal._ _ _ _

____"This is not your fault," he calmly tried. "We assumed the cab driver was just a witness, not the UnSub. You couldn't have known."_ _ _ _

____"But we knew the profile. We created it… We're supposed to figure this out before anyone else so stuff like this doesn't happen."_ _ _ _

____"The profile is a useful tool. It's not a safeguard, you know that," Hotch reminded gently. He took a deep breath before continuing. "You told JJ in Georgia, that one of them was there and the other wasn't. You're in her position now._ _ _ _

____The rest is up to you."  
\------------------------_ _ _ _

____Reid's head was pounding._ _ _ _

____That was the first thought that came to his mind as he tried to claw his way back from the hold of unconsciousness. He felt stuffy and disoriented and his addled mind struggled to keep up with the amount of information thrown in by his subconscious mind. Everything kept drifting just out of his reach and the more he tried to grasp each flying thought, the more it evaded him. Memories swirled around him and little by little, it all started coming back._ _ _ _

____As he emerged from the darkness, he knew exactly why his head was aching and why nausea lurked at the back of his throat. Reid knew he was sitting up; he could feel the flat, cool surface of a metal chair under him and the tight, sticky substance encircling his wrists and restraining his arms to the thin armrests. His ankles were likewise rendered immobile to the legs of the chair. Duct taped. He feared as much. As lucidity etched back inch by inch, Reid dared opening his eyes. The normally mundane, effortless task almost proved too much. It took several tries before he managed to pry his heavy eyelids apart, especially the left one as something warm and sticky had practically glued it shut. His bent legs, the tips of his shoes poking out at the top, swam dizzily before his eyes. He blinked sluggishly in an attempt to clear the haze as the scene kept drifting in and out of focus. He stubbornly swallowed down the bile that threatened to appear while he tried getting his bearings. It took longer than it should have before the thick cotton wrapped around his brain dissipated, so either the knock on his head was worse than first estimated or he had been given something else to keep him under. The notion of being drugged without his consent sent a brief shiver of apprehension and fear down his spine. That was one road he would rather not go down again. He didn't think he could survive that a second time._ _ _ _

____Reid pushed down those thoughts and concentrated on the problem at hand. Once the nausea got back under control, the young FBI agent dared raise his head a little further from where it hung. He slowly and delicately lifted his gaze from the dusty floor to inspect the rest of the room. It was a bigger room than he had suspected, given the UnSub's former preference for smaller cabins. The floor was more concrete than wood, however the walls seemed to be made mostly of timber – some sort of warehouse or storage facility perhaps?_ _ _ _

____He couldn't discern much else from his surroundings than that. A small door was directly opposite his position, a thin line of meager light filtering around the edges, but it wasn't enough to discern the time of day or what surroundings lay beyond the wooden prison. Reid looked at his tied wrist. His watch had been covered by the duct tape so he couldn't glean anything from that either._ _ _ _

____It was only then he realized he wasn't alone._ _ _ _

____The small hairs on the back of his neck prickled as a figure shuffled around behind him. Heavy breathing whispered in his ears. He strained his neck to glance at his captor but that only worsened his vertigo. He settled for waiting until the presence revealed itself instead._ _ _ _

____He didn't have to wait long._ _ _ _

____"I was afraid that I had hit you too hard," Jeffrey Michaels said as he finally came into Reid's line of sight._ _ _ _

____The man looked the same as when Reid had first laid eyes on him at the cab company. The greying hair, receding at the forehead, small, beady eyes that now shined with excitement and composure where they had been filled with anxiety and hesitation. The change was startling. This was a man with nothing left to lose and those were always the most dangerous. Reid feared what that meant for him. Though he already suspected where this was headed._ _ _ _

____"Agent Spencer Reid," Michaels announced. "That's your name, right? I read it on your badge."_ _ _ _

____Reid remained silent._ _ _ _

____"FBI agent at what, 26? 27? Your parents must be proud. Your friends too. That's quite an achievement for such a young age."_ _ _ _

____"Actually, becoming an FBI agent is fairly easy and most applicants is accepted if they bring something to the table," Reid spoke up this time. He had to stop Michaels' rambling and victimization of him if he were to have any chance of getting out of here with his life intact and preferably unburned. So, he lied through his teeth. "I bet you could be one."_ _ _ _

____Jeff Michaels' eyes twinkled for a second. "You think so?"_ _ _ _

____"Yeah, why not? You managed to grab an FBI agent from under everyone's noses and get away with it scot-free. That takes skill and precision. They would practically hire you on the spot." _Maybe that's overselling it a little bit. _____ _ _

______Michaels had started to pace back and forth eagerly as the thoughts ran through his head. Reid knew he had to keep talking._ _ _ _ _ _

______"You're clearly wasted as a cab driver. But life's been cruel to you, removed your opportunities, taken away your sense of control. That's not your fault. Not like with the others. They have been handed everything from the start. And that's not fair. But we see you. The FBI see you."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Michaels had stopped his pacing, staring intently at the bound and bloody profiler before him. Reid suspected he had gone a little overboard when he noticed the still practically giddy stature of the arsonist. The body language hadn't changed throughout the entire conversation. He wasn't entirely sure if anything he said could change Michaels' mind. He seemed determined to fulfill his purpose, live and die exactly like he had planned it. That was the ultimate form of control and no amount of flattery could change that perspective._ _ _ _ _ _

______"You know how I will make them see me, Agent Reid?" Michaels then calmly said, a thin smile spreading across his lips, his eyes gleaming. "By making sure they can't look away. Not this time."  
\------------------------------_ _ _ _ _ _

______Morgan felt his nails biting into the skin of his palms with barely concealed frustration and anger as he stared at the computer screen in front of him. He could have been there. He should have been there._ _ _ _ _ _

______He knew it was an irrational feeling, but it still surged through his body as he kept replaying the incident over and over in his head. If that manager hadn't stopped him, he could have had his back properly like he supposed to. But he also knew Hotch was right. Morgan was here, Reid wasn't. It was an unfortunate series of events that lead them to here; one they couldn't have predicted, although they should have flagged cab drivers as potential suspects. But beating himself up over it wouldn't help anyone, let alone Reid. And Morgan knew that. But that didn't make the despairing feeling any easier to bear._ _ _ _ _ _

______The grainy footage from the cab garage surveillance was poor quality as they played the tape. But all five remaining team members were perfectly capable of recognizing their youngest colleague as he entered the yard as well as Jeffrey Michaels, who was crouched by his cab's back tire. A brief exchange of words followed soundlessly on the footage, when Michaels turned away from the questioning agent, seemingly in thought. The next second, something vaguely silver gleamed in the meager light as Michaels rapidly turned and swung the shining object in his hands directly at Reid's head. The video had no sound so there was no resounding crack echoing from the screen as he was struck, but they all witnessed as Reid crumbled bonelessly to the ground with the blow._ _ _ _ _ _

______JJ visibly winced at the sight, her hand hovering over her throat and on her sister's necklace to seek comfort as she witnessed her best friend being manhandled into the backseat of a taxi, which then rapidly drove out onto the street and of the visual camera range._ _ _ _ _ _

______"He headed west after that. We managed to track him for about five miles before we lost visual of the vehicle," Detective Sanderson supplied, an apologetic look on her face. "We have an APB out on the cab number and license plate, but so far, nothing."_ _ _ _ _ _

______"He's smart enough to know we're tracking him. He would either conceal or dump the taxi as soon as he could," Rossi dejectedly explained._ _ _ _ _ _

______"Wherever he's taken Reid, it's gotta be somewhere significant to him," Hotch theorized out loud. "We need to search through his life. Understanding where he came from, we'll know where he's going."_ _ _ _ _ _

______Morgan nodded in agreement as he retrieved his phone from his pocket and dialed the number at the very top of his speed dial. He knew exactly what he would hear when the receiver picked up on the other end. It barely managed to ring, before Garcia's light, worried voice echoed in his ear._ _ _ _ _ _

______" _Any news? _"___ _ _ _ _ _

________"Not yet… We're gonna need some of your magic for that," he replied solemnly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________" _Do you think he's alright? He's an FBI agent, so I mean, he wouldn't hurt him, would he? He's supposed to be smart, so he knows what happens when you take an FBI agent- _"___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________Morgan needed to stop her ramblings. It was her immense concern and care for their resident genius that caused her selective hearing and he adored her for it but combined with stress and too much caffeine it usually resulted in a minor shutdown. He needed to ground the technical analyst before she went off on a tangent._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Garcia. Baby girl," he firmly said. He took the subsequent quiet as a sign he had retained her attention. "I need your wonderful little brain to focus right now."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________A beat of silence. " _It is yours, my liege. _"___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Affection and appreciation surged through his heart at how quickly she pulled herself together, her level head rapidly returning. "I need everything you have on Jeffrey Michaels. We need to figure out where he would take Reid."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________" _One life history of soon-to-be-caught fire psychopath coming your way faster than you can say 'Dark Chocolate'. Garcia out. _"___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Morgan smiled at the confident statement as she disconnected the line. He had been preoccupied with the conversation, so he didn't notice Rossi leaning over to Hotch, his voice purposefully kept low enough for only the unit chief to hear his comment._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"Michaels isn't stupid. He knows what it means to kidnap an FBI agent. He can't come back from that."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Hotch nodded his agreement, his voice was as dejected and grim as his words._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"This is his endgame. He's gonna burn both himself as well as Reid…"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	5. He Rather Have Me Flame Out

"Let's review what we know," Hotch declared.

He tried his best to remain calm and collected for the sake of his team. They all knew they were working against the clock and that pressure, along with the emotional attachment to the victim – his heart echoed painfully at his mind's detached, cold statement of Reid calmly being referred to as the victim – could lead to tunnel vision and missed indicators. He needed them motivated and focused and right now, the sullen faces that had gathered around the conference table, staring up at him, was anything but. He decided to go first, to get them to think and open up:

"He chooses high-profiling victims. Those with recent achievements and accomplishments, who to any outsider would appear to have complete control of their lives."

"Reid certainly qualifies for that," Prentiss muttered wistfully.

"We know he uses halothane to subdue and incapacitate his victims," Morgan said. "Most likely, he has altered the emission system in his cab, allowing the anesthetic to filter straight into the back cabin. He overhears his victims talk about their achievements and to him, they're rubbing it in his face, so he simply decides and flicks a switch. The victims wouldn't realize something was amiss before it was already too late."

"From there, he could drive them to the secluded cabins without anyone raising an eyebrow," Rossi continued.

Prentiss chimed in, "So far, he's chosen scattered ramshackle cabins or features that he knew would be abandoned or empty. He knows the FBI is closing in on him; he knows this is the final act, so a randomly selected cabin won't do anymore."

"Question is where?" JJ questioned, her voice tired and frustrated.

The conference phone rang then and its high, sudden shrill reverberated loudly throughout the tense room. They all knew who would be on the other end, so when Prentiss leaned over and hit the answer button, she answered with a, "You're on speaker, Garcia."

"Okay, so I got the 411 on our UnSub, Jeffrey Michaels," Garcia dove right in, her eagerness fueling her sentences. "He is 42 years old, worked some dead-end jobs in his youth, bouncing from place to place, until he settled for employment at Seattle Yellow Cab, where he has been an unhappy camper for the past fifteen years. His childhood seemed all fun and games, until the age of 12 where he sadly lost both his parents in a freak fire accident at their hunting cabin."

____"12 is an impressionable age," Rossi mused. "He couldn't control the fire that took his parents then, so he exerts that control over the fires he sets now."_ _ _ _

____"And after that, he sort of gets lost in the overloaded system. He landed in a foster home that was shut down a couple of years ago, as they constantly exceeded their capacity, so he was no doubt surrounded by kids his entire youth. That didn't settle well with little Jeffrey as apparently the fire department was called out several times for small fires he had started."___ _

______"Garcia, did he suffer an accident or lose someone close to him in the months leading up to the murders?" Hotch asked urgently._ _ _ _ _ _

______A few clicking noises followed as the technical analyst browsed through the history. " _His wife filed for divorce six months ago. No kids were fortunately involved, and she relocated to sunny Florida. She's a nurse anesthetist though, so that might explain his knowledge of the halothane and where to get it. _"___ _ _ _ _ _

________"That would be the stressor," Prentiss said. "He lost the only one who ever made him feel seen. After that, he must have lost all sense of control."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________" _Yeah, but none of that helps us find Reid _," Garcia desperately chimed in.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________"Baby Girl, can you check for any properties in his name that isn't his house?" Morgan asked tryingly._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

__________" _I already did – there's nothing. _"___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________A light appeared in Prentiss' eyes as the sudden thought hit her like lightening from a pure sky. "What about the hunting cabin where his parents died?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Garcia's rapid typing clicked over the speaker, then her voice, suddenly filled with optimism and energy, took over again: " _E has once again proved her intellectual prowess. The cabin was leveled to the ground, and never rebuilt. However, it looks like a storage facility has been built on its spot in the meantime but that has since too been abandoned. The facility is still standing though, and the coordinates have already been uploaded to your phones. _"___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________All FBI agents scrambled to their feet as their phones chimed, a sense of urgency and hope fueling their limbs._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"Good work, Mama," Morgan sweetly and sincerely said as he rose._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________" _Please, bring him back safe _," she responded seriously before the line disconnected again.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit practically ran for the door, each and every one of them praying they weren't too late.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Reid watched with an almost practical detachment as Jeffrey Michaels whirled energetically around him, the containers of accelerant being sloshed onto the floor._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________He had abandoned the task of trying to persuade the arsonist to let him go by now. He had made several futile efforts at further conversation and arguments, but Michaels remained unmovable and inexorable as he carried on his delusional, self-appointed task. He was fully in command now and any attempts to convince him otherwise, would mean relinquishing his precarious hold on the control he had fought so hard to obtain._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Reid had then turned his attention to his binds. He tried wiggling his wrists and ankles to loosen the tape wound tightly around his limbs. He only succeeded in rubbing the bare skin on his wrists raw and chafing the skin of his ankles underneath his trousers. The duct tape remained stubbornly inflexible._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________He was left with silent discouragement. He felt completely helpless. He related to the killer in that prospect. He didn't like not being in control, this gnawing feeling of powerlessness and incompetence. People had underestimated him his whole life and he knew he wore his intelligence like armor to protect himself from that and the crippling emotions that came with it. He also knew he wasn't the weak, defenseless kid some mistook him for, yet all those perceptions tore at his soul and his mind now, like rapid waves, crashing into him bit by bit. He was knocking on Death's door, about to be burned alive with a psychotic killer and there wasn't a single thing he could do about it. It was as infuriating as it was terrifying. He just hoped his team would find him in time. He trusted the team with his life. He trusted their skills and their profile. It would lead them to him eventually. He had to put his faith on that. It was simply a question of when._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Jeffrey Michaels slowed his incessant movements and came to a stop before the profiler, some harmonic calm shining in his gaze. He had a box of matches twirling around his fingers._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Are you ready?" he asked happily, like they were about to go on a needed holiday and not about to burn together._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Let me go," Reid ventured again, his instinctual desire for survival trumping logical conclusions. "You can still get what you want. I won't interfere. You can do whatever you please, just let me go."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Michaels frowned, his brow furrowed in confusion, like he didn't understand why someone wouldn't want what he was doing. Like no one had ever pleaded with him before. No one had ever argued against him. "But then, what would be the point? No one would know. No one would see."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"I'll make sure they do. Let me spread your message. Let me tell your story. Just let me go and I will make sure everyone knows your name. They will see you," Reid pleaded in a desperate attempt to save his own life._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"I don't think they will," Michaels stated confidently, although now his voice quivered with anguish and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. "They never did."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"Please. Let me go…"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"It doesn't matter. Don't you see? Nothing matters anymore."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Michaels straightened his back with determination, a stark contrast with the insecurity and hurt running over his features. He took out a match from the matchbox, his brown eyes boring fearlessly into Reid's._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________"We are all ashes in the end."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________________Then he lit the match._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	6. Come Watch Me Burnout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are truly heating up now! (sorry for the late post)

The flames had quickly engulfed the walls.

The bright, yellow licks ate through the accelerant, using it to gain momentum and size, devouring everything in its path. The heat radiated out, soon becoming almost unbearable. The dark smoke filled up the room even quicker. It burned in Reid's watering eyes and scratched his nostrils painfully. The searing warmth and penetrating smoke dived into and invaded his airways, his lungs already screaming with the agony of drawing in a proper breath. Coughs racked his body and the profiler used every bit of his waning strength to tear into the duct tape, desperately trying to dislodge it and escape.

Jeffrey Michaels sat on the floor directly opposite himself, examining his work with contented glee. His body wasn't calm though. The all oppressing heat caused his hands to fidget and the inclosing flames kept sending twitches down his legs. His primal instincts were kicking in, the constant, obsessive need to stay alive crying louder and louder in his ears. In the end, he couldn't stand it anymore and he rose staggering to his feet, the smoke blinding and choking.

"Michaels, you know this isn't going to work," Reid croaked. His voice was paper-thin and raw from the flaming fumes and it hurt to speak. But he had to try. "You're in control. Just release me. And we can figure this out together…"

The arsonist only looked at him with lidded, red-rimmed eyes, filled with surrender and placidity. He was hunched over, like all energy had abandoned him.

"No, Agent Reid… We won't," he morosely stated, his voice equally abused and rough.

He turned back to the raging fire, its orange and yellow light reflected in his dark orbs.

"Ashes and dust…" he muttered.

Reid barely caught the words. When he did, panic truly and rapidly set in. He could do nothing but watch as the serial killer stepped fully into the fire. He let the flames engulf his entire body. He stood quietly as it violently began to tear into his clothes. When it moved further in and attacked his flesh, he couldn't contain the scream of pain that erupted from his throat. The guttural, animalistic cry reverberated in Reid's ears and he was certain the sound would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. However short that might be.

The blazing man was lost to his impulses and he staggered wildly in an unconscious attempt at fleeing the fire, wailing in agony, as the stench of burning flesh mixed with the already acrid bite of the smoldering inferno. Reid's stomach churned.

Through blurred vision, he saw Michaels spin and twist as his own personal, scorching hell consumed him completely. The incinerated arsonist barged through the door in an effort to get away, crashing into the wood and sending flaming splinters flying into the air. His bellowing shrieks pierced the night outside, rapidly growing fainter and fainter until they completely died out.

He barely made it three yards before he finally succumbed to the pain. He flopped to the dusty ground, the flames continuing to crackle contently on the now still corpse.

Jeffrey Michaels didn't move again.  
\----------------------------------------

The sirens cleared the path easily as the black SUV barreled down the trafficked street.

Morgan's hands were tight around the wheel as he expertly weaved through the moving cars, Hotch sitting tense on the passenger seat as he gave directions towards the secluded hunting cabin by the outskirts of town. The others along with a police escort followed them close by, trailing behind them like a snake, flashing red and blue, the police sirens blaring their location for miles.

They were 10 minutes out and Derek Morgan deemed that 10 minutes too long. His heart pumped in his chest, his blood rushing in his ears, as fear weighted down his foot even more on the gas pedal. The SUV roared and accelerated further.

"Have EMS and FD standing by when we get there," Hotch was ordering into his earpiece. "And alert the nearest hospital, just in case."

Morgan sent his team leader a quick glance at the last remark. He knew it was necessary; they didn't know what they would discover when they arrived, but it didn't lessen the overwhelming terror that resided in his stomach. If anything, it made him want to drive faster. He willed the heavy vehicle forward, wishing he could force it to go quicker through sheer willpower.

_Hang in there, kid. _  
_____________________________________________________

__The fire was spreading fast, feeding greedily on the extra oxygen floating in from the outside._ _

__The flames weren't close enough yet to start licking at his skin, though it wouldn't be long now. Reid's burning eyes caught sight of the limp body past the wooden door, creaking unsteadily on its hinges. A shudder ran down his spine. That would be him soon._ _

__But that wasn't even the only danger that would get him. Another dangerous part, and probably his biggest concern at the moment, was the black smoke. It had descended upon the smoldering room and colored everything in a darkened mist that stung the eyes and hurt his lungs. It was going to choke him. It had already begun to do so._ _

__Hacking coughs tore through his torso as he desperately and unwillingly tried to draw in just one proper breath. The logical part of his mind knew it was impossible and the deeper uptakes he took, the faster the smoke inhalation would kill him. But the subconscious, primal part of his brain didn't listen to reason and instead only focused on the simple act of breathing, forcing his lungs to expand and draw in the toxic air._ _

__He needed to get as low as possible._ _

__He was utterly exhausted, his stamina pouring out of him like a faucet. But he needed to somehow move. He stubbornly pulled on every last reserve and adrenaline fueled his spent limbs as he threw his upper body violently to the side. The chair's two legs lifted briefly before slamming back down. Reid grunted with the exertion. He steeled himself. Pure, stubborn determination coursed through his veins and he yanked himself to the side again. He added as much force as he could possibly muster. The chair began to tilt. Elation surged through him as he felt gravity pull him all the way down._ _

__That was soon replaced with misery as his right side collided roughly with the heated concrete. The tiny loose pebbles bit into his skin but he didn't have the energy to care. The small action had left him completely worn out and his chest still ached with coughs. That had been one of the hardest things he had ever done. The small idea to try and move the chair further quickly evaporated from his swirling mind._ _

__But at least, he could breathe a little easier.  
\-----------------------------------------------_ _

__"Come on, move!"_ _

__Morgan shouted at the cars in front when they haphazardly dove to the side to make way for the blasting police caravan. Hotch sent him a sidelong glance at the outburst but otherwise didn't comment. He knew exactly what his agent was feeling, the same emotions swirled in both his heart and his mind. He was anxious at what they would find._ _

__Once the civilians had driven off to the side, Morgan pressed the gas and the engine flared up with the sudden demand. They had exited the city and entered the dirt road that led into the forested area where the storage facility, and hopefully Reid, was located. The SUV groaned and roared, sending the dirt spraying off to the side as it plowed through the vegetation towards their destination._ _

__Hotch turned to his subordinate again, his worried gaze but the words he spoke were confident and without any hesitation._ _

__"We'll make it."  
\---------------------------------------_ _

__The darkness was beckoning closer._ _

__Reid wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and allow the alluring unconsciousness to come and take him away. He coughed weakly, not having the strength to do any more._ _

__He wondered then if his team was on their way. He tried calculating the odds, but his weary brain could no longer process that much information at the same time. Even when he tried to concentrate, he could barely recall half the equations and predictors needed for such a calculation in the first place. He quickly gave up trying._ _

__If they had figured where he was, for his own sake, he hoped they would get here before the flames, or the smoke, claimed his life. If they were too late though, for his peace of mind, he hoped it would be long after the fire had died out and he was nothing but ashes and bones for them to find. It would hurt. But seeing him utterly gone was kinder than seeing him burned to death before their eyes. The mere thought of the team seeing him thrash around and scream like Michaels had done sent shivers down his spine and constricted his heart. No one should ever witness such a horrifying sight. If he was already dead when they finally came… He would be alright with that. The more he considered it the more at ease he became with that notion. He knew if that was what happened, he could live with it._ _

__He would be at peace with that._ _

__The only regret he had was that he hadn't been able to say goodbye to his mom. Calm serenity flooded his mind as the prospect of his death came within view. His team would be okay, eventually. And in the end, that was all one could hope for._ _

__He was tired. So very tired._ _

__His vision tipped and blurred, his lungs screamed in pain, but all of it hardly seemed to matter anymore. He floated listlessly along, the fire no longer burning and tearing into him. A comfortable numbness spread across his body. His eyes fluttered closed at their own accord as oblivion enveloped him like a blanket._ _

__He surrendered easily._ _


	7. Found the Road Back Was Too Steep

The tires screeched as the dark SUV ground to a halt, the rest of the police escort a couple of minutes behind them.

The forest was dark with the fallen night, but the burning storage facility lit up the entire area in an orange and yellow hue as the flames were hungrily devouring the walls and roof. The black smoke stretched like an ominous, inky pillar, reaching for the sky and darkening out the stars. Morgan and Hotch ran out of the car, skidding to a stop when they caught sight of the building.

Morgan's heart fell into the pit in his stomach.

No. 

__He sprinted the final yards towards the entrance, the door barely clinging onto its hinges and practically burned off, dread fueling his every step. When he could feel the heat of the fire warming his skin, he slowed his brisk pace, cautiously moving forward. A charred body was on the ground, flames still tearing into whatever remained of the clothes on the back. He couldn't tell whether it was Reid. He didn't think so; the corpse seemed smaller and stockier, but half the skin was gone, and the other half was horribly burned. It was impossible to tell._ _

__The dark-skinned agent pulled his gun, holding it out hesitantly as he edged closer to the busted doorway and the uncontrollable inferno. He heard Hotch's footfalls on the dirt behind him._ _

__"Reid?!" Morgan called out, hoping beyond hope._ _

__The only answer he got was the groans of the blazing building structure and the roar of the flames. He was close enough now that the suffocating smoke that was billowing out started itching in his lungs._ _

__"Reid!" he hollered._ _

__He squinted through the harsh glare from the flames into the open storage space. The flames flickered vigorously and obstructed his line of sight. But there was no mistaking what he saw. In the middle of the room rested a turned over chair, a shadowed form connected to it. It didn't seem to be moving._ _

__"I see him!" Morgan yelled._ _

__He didn't hesitate. Carelessly he tossed his gun to the ground._ _

__Then he dived into the flames._ _

__"Morgan!" Hotch's voice shouted after him as he jumped through._ _

__Morgan paid it no mind. He ignored the engulfing heat and the choking smoke that raged all around him. He only had eyes for the limp form of Spencer Reid, securely fastened to the flipped chair with duct tape._ _

__"Reid," Morgan's voice was already hoarse and haggard as he crouched down in front of the young profiler, his stinging eyes widening at what met him._ _

__Reid's eyes were closed, his head resting listlessly on the ground. Dried blood covered the visible side of his face and soot marked his nostrils. His chest barely moved, and Morgan couldn't determine if he was breathing. The older profiler coughed, as he started cutting off the duct tape encircling Reid's thin wrists and ankles. As his knife cut jaggedly through the sticky tape, his eyes kept drifting to his friend's lax face. There was not a trace of the normally energetic, talking genius in those young features. It terrified him to no end._ _

__Spencer's left arm came loose and flopped limply down to the dusty floor and Morgan moved to feverishly free his feet. The roof above groaned as the fire continued to weaken the structure. The already borrowed time was steadily running out. The final strip came free._ _

__Derek wasted no time as he scooped Reid into his arms, the long arms and legs dangling from his embrace. The support beams creaked again. Morgan cradled his precious cargo tighter to his chest. Then he ran for the doorway, thundering through the thin wall of fire obstructing his exit. He felt the burning sensation as the flames briefly touched his exposed skin. As he collapsed onto the grass in a heap, he gulped down the pristine fresh forest air, hacking coughs erupting from his sore throat. He hadn't let go of Reid._ _

__Hotch was by his side immediately._ _

__"We need EMS here now!" his commanding voice bellowed to the arriving police as they pulled up._ _

__He helped ease Reid gently onto the soft grass, his hands cuddling the limp profiler's lolling head on the way down like a concerned father would. They didn't need to check if his chest was moving as wheezing, hitching breaths wrecked through his thin body and echoed grimly in their ears. His usual pale skin had gone a whole shade whiter, the blood shining brightly on his face and mattering his brown hair. His thin shirt was darkened and singed in some places, angry, oozing welts hiding underneath, while his legs seemed to have been protected slightly from the thicker material of his trousers. The most concerning was his troubled breathing and lack of consciousness._ _

__"Reid?" Morgan tried again, his hand hovering over Spencer's chest. He was scared to touch him in fear of somehow making everything worse._ _

__"Reid, can you hear me?" Hotch joined in with his grave voice. "Reid, if you can hear me, answer me."_ _

__"Reid, come on, man. Open your eyes."_ _

__Reid's eyes flickered slightly like he was furiously struggling with heeding their commands. Finally, it seemed he was able to part his heavy eyelids somewhat, revealing his tired, cloudy, hazel eyes. He stared up at them, confusion and pain resonating within his weary gaze._ _

__"Hey there, Pretty Boy," Morgan greeted with an appeased smile. The surge of relief that had flooded his veins were quickly replaced by the return of the hollowing, gnawing feel of deep concern as Reid looked at his two team members without the usual brightness and recognition. His eyes were no more than thin slits as he drifted in and out of awareness._ _

__"Spencer," Morgan commanded, hoping that the use of his first name would elicit a response. He shared a fearful look with his unit chief, when Reid barely acknowledged the plea. Instead, his eyes floated languidly towards the star dotted night sky. There they rested almost calmly for a full second before they fluttered closed._ _

__"No, no, no, come on man, stay with us." Morgan felt the panic rising when Reid's head rolled limply to the side as he lost his battle with consciousness._ _

__Dark figures filtered into Morgan's field of vision, while a gloved hand delicately touched his shoulder as two paramedics pushed their way past the two crouched profilers to their patient. Anxious worry had rendered him completely placid as he allowed himself to be nudged aside. In a stupor, his heart pumping loudly in his ears, he watched as the medical professionals knelt in the grass by the unconscious genius and began prodding and poking at him. They called his name repeatedly and exchanged brief observations with each other, while attaching him to portable devices and IVs were inserted into the small nook of his arm. Nimble hands lifted his lolling head to secure an oxygen mask over his face, absorbing the sound of his labored, rattled breathing._ _

__Gentler that Morgan could have anticipated, the paramedics transferred Reid's lanky frame onto the waiting stretcher and then further onto the gurney. Their movements were rushed but coordinated as they raised the gurney and pushed him briskly ahead towards the open backdoors of the parked ambulance. Morgan and Hotch both trailed directly behind them, their worried eyes never once shifting from their teammate._ _

__As the gurney was pushed into the back, Hotch directed his attention to his other subordinate, who was attempting to reduce his jagged coughs._ _

__"Morgan, go with him in the ambulance," he requested. "Get yourself checked out too; I am not risking another member of the team."_ _

__Under any other circumstance, Morgan might have objected. But this time, he felt only a pang of relief at the order, knowing he didn't have to let the man he considered his brother out of his sight._ _

__With the affirming nod from the paramedic in the back, he climbed in and took a seat on the small bench. The doors were slammed shut and the ambulance tore off into the night, its loud sirens shrieking and flashing with urgency.  
\----------------------------------------------------------_ _

__Morgan kept searching his face for any indication of awareness._ _

__Reid's eyes remained stubbornly closed, oblivious to his panicked team member's pleas and prods, as the ambulance raced, wailing, down the slumbering streets of Seattle. Morgan's hand never strayed from its precarious grasp on his friend, his long fingers curled protectively around his arm just above the raw furrows that the duct tape had dug into the pale skin. The constant fogging of the oxygen mask and the monitors all told him that Reid was still alive and breathing, yet the pallid tone of his skin that wasn't red from burns and the complete motionless body terrified Derek deeply. His other hand that wasn't clinging onto Reid, held his own oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, relishing the constant flow of fresh air into his lungs. He could feel it slowly clearing his airways and his thoughts, which kept drifting back to the tall agent on the gurney in front of him. His attention heightened when he thought he saw him move. A barely noticeable shift of his head._ _

__"Reid?" he tried, the oxygen mask muffling his voice. He leaned in closer and took the mask away from his face. "Reid?"_ _

__The paramedic by the gurney's head looked up from his inspection of the monitor readouts and directed his sharp eyes at the sitting FBI agent. "Agent, I let you tag along because of your possible smoke inhalation. You need to keep the mask on."_ _

__"I'm fine, man. It's him you gotta focus on," Morgan forcefully countered, his worry making the words come out fiercer than he intended._ _

__"And I will," the paramedic said. "As long as you keep that mask on."_ _

__Morgan's eyes fell and he obediently returned the oxygen mask to cover his face, all the while staring at his friend he could have sworn had moved. He willed for the younger man to wake up or show some sort of sign that he was still in there, hanging on._ _

__Instead, he got the opposite._ _

__Reid's breath hitched a single time and a shrill noise blared in the packed ambulance as the monitors started screaming and going haywire. The paramedic sprang into action. He lowered the gurney's headrest all the way down and tossed the small pillow to the side. His hands scrambled and grabbed several objects from the shelves and units in the wall and practically tore the oxygen mask off Reid's face. To Morgan's great horror, he could only watch as the paramedic tilted Reid's head up, pushed his jaw to open his mouth and then insert a clear, thin tube down his throat. With practiced ease, he secured it with tape while he grabbed and attached a blue breathing bag to the end. He began pressing it with controlled hands at regular intervals, the bag whooshing with every squeeze as it forced air into Spencer's lungs._ _

__"How far out?" the paramedic called to his driving partner; his eyes entirely focused on the patient under him._ _

__"4 minutes!" came her clipped response from the front._ _

__Morgan tightened his hold on Reid's arm. He prayed that somehow, he could feel his presence and it would anchor him to stay. To stay in the living world with him, with the rest of the team._ _

___Please don't leave me, kid. ____ _


	8. When He Come Home for Forgiveness

The waiting room was quiet, laden with tension and apprehension.

The four FBI profilers gathered in there did nothing to try and ease the silence, each lost in their own despairing thoughts. JJ was sitting in one of the chairs, anxiously fiddling with her sister's delicate necklace around her throat, her big, blue eyes staring off into space. Rossi was standing up next to her, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in his hands, though the warm steam was steadily disappearing without his notice as he barely raised it to his lips to take a sip. Prentiss was sitting leaned over opposite of JJ, her elbows resting on her thighs while her right leg bounced impatiently up and down in a rapid rhythm. Hotch had occupied a chair over in the corner, leaned over with his phone cradled in his hands.

He examined each one of his waiting team members. None of them had slept very much since they had landed yet when a respite finally came and there was nothing to do but sit and wait, not one of them moved an inch, determined to stay. It resonated deeply in Hotch's heart, knowing the lengths they would all go to, to protect each other. Their tightly knit team was certainly more of a family and had become so seemingly by accident. Each and every day Aaron Hotchner was proud of his teammates and grateful for their continued love and devotion, both to each other and to the job that demanded so much. When Haley had died, it had left a gaping wound in his soul, one that still ached and tore at his mind, but his team – his family, along with Jack, had pulled him through. He wasn't entirely sure he would ever recover but with his team at his back, he knew he had a fighting chance. He cared deeply for each and every one of them, and he was in charge of them.

Hotch was repeatedly struck with the returning notion of who was missing. Of who wasn't present.

The last he had seen of the missing two team members an unresponsive Reid had been loaded into an ambulance with a coughing Morgan following suit.

While the fate of one remained unknown, the other came wandering into the waiting room with heavy steps, soot still clinging to his dark face and a dejected look in his eyes.

"You okay?" Rossi gently inquired as they all noticed his presence.

"Crisp around the edges, but I'm good," Morgan reported. His voice was low and rough from the smoke and the coughing.

"And Reid?" JJ tentatively asked.

His face fell as he searched for a good answer. Eventually, he settled for, "I don't know. It didn't look good."

Each profiler settled back into their places of restless waiting and strained silence once more descended on the room. Morgan shuffled over to the only one who hadn't risen from his seat when he had entered. He flopped down tiredly next to his team leader with a burdened sigh.

"You wanna talk about it?" Hotch ventured. It didn't take a profiler to notice the slumped shoulders or the defeated, haunted stare.

"No," Morgan quickly shut down. "You?"

That obvious, huh?

Hotch breathed out heavily, briefly contemplating whether to share his despairing thoughts and the heavy burden that was weighing down on his heart.

"I keep thinking if I hadn't released the profile, Michaels probably wouldn't have panicked and taken Reid."

Morgan huffed humorlessly at the statement, bopping his head in acknowledgement. He had been acting unit chief for a period, so he knew how weighted that mantle could be.

"Giving that profile to the media was about the only right thing you could do. More people would have died, if you hadn't and Jeffrey Michaels would have kept on evading us."

"I shouldn't have sent you two to the cab company after that. Cab driver fit the profile perfectly and I missed it."

"Hotch, we all missed it. Just like you said to me yesterday. It was only when the manager pulled me aside to talk about Michaels that I realized he could be a suspect, not a witness. We made an oversight. It happens. And sometimes we are punished severely for those types of mistakes. As you very well know," Morgan mildly stated.

Hotch's heart constricted painfully at the statement.

Morgan continued, his voice tinged with both melancholy and admission as he seemed lost in his own troubled mind. "You know, I keep going over the cab company in my head. What if we hadn't been separated? What if the manager had talked to Reid instead of me? What if I had been there on time? Constant repeat, over and over, and in the end, I know none of it helps. Not me, and not Reid."

Hotch knew what the point of this was and deep down, he knew Morgan's words to be true. It was part of his job; one the others were thankfully spared for. The overwhelming pressure of keeping them safe guided his every action and word and whenever he failed, he always put into question his ability to lead and shelter his subordinates from the cruelty of the world. Most days, he succeeded, and it was those days he drew on for strength whenever something like this happened. Deep down, he knew he was the best one for the job and he would be damned if anyone tried to take it away. Deep down, he also knew what the real source of his doubt and dread was.

"I know," Hotch said out loud. He contemplated if he should speak the next part aloud, but if he didn't, he suspected he never would. "But all I can think is how I couldn't protect Elle and Gideon from themselves… How I lost Haley. How I nearly lost Jack…"

He raised his eyes to meet Morgan's disquieted, yet supportive gaze.

"I can't lose another…"  
\-----------------------------------------------

The sullen, anxiety-ridden silence carried on in the waiting room as time stretched on.

Each profiler was so lost in their own thoughts that every single one of them jumped with the doors burst open and a livid Penelope Garcia came marching through, her high heels clacking heavily on the floor.

"Derek Morgan! You cannot tell me someone is trying to burn down my little baby genius and then go AWOL for the next six hours!"

Morgan gingerly rose from his seat and turned to meet the fuming technical analyst head-on.

"Garcia…"

He didn't manage to get in another word before she continued, pointing an accusatory finger at his chest. "No! You left me in complete radio silence. I didn't know if Spencer Reid was dead or alive, in fact I didn't know if you were dead or alive, as you left me with nothing, not even a text…"

"Garcia."

"I was in such a hurry, I didn't even manage to grab any coffee, or my Doctor who figurines, or flowers, or chocolate… Do you think they have a Who shop nearby? What if he wakes up and there's nothing there, or-"

"Garcia!" Morgan interjected as he grabbed her shoulders to ground her. Her terrified brown eyes were wide behind her glasses and he could recognize a rambling fueled by intense fear and worry easily. He waited until he had her full attention. "He's gonna be fine. Right?"

Her eyes flickered back and forth on his face as if she was trying to determine if he was lying. She completely deflated a breath later. A timid smile played in her ruby red lips. "Right."

"I know, Baby Girl. I know," He pulled her into a tight embrace, letting her energy and her presence calm his own frayed nerves.

"Please tell me he's going to be okay," her small voice was muffled as her head was buried in his shirt.

_I wish I could, Baby Girl… ___

__"Thank you for coming here," he softly said instead._ _

__He felt her arms tighten around his torso as she squeezed comfortingly. "Always."  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------_ _

__Morgan and Garcia stood like that for quite some time, as he drew strength and comfort from her warm embrace._ _

__They had just parted, when the doctor entered the waiting room. Her blue scrubs were crumbled and stained with sweat, a worn look on her wrinkled features._ _

__"Agents," she called, waiting until she held the attention of every member of the BAU. Then she uttered the four words that immediately gave them the reprieve they had been hoping for._ _

__"He's gonna be fine."_ _

__The doctor allowed them their sigh of relief and let the statement set in properly before continuing. "He got some minor burns on his torso as well as his arms, fortunately none are third-degree so those scars will fade in time. Most pressing was the smoke inhalation caused from the smoke entering his lungs, which got rather bad, as I was told they had to intubate in the field."_ _

__Each BAU team member shot a startled look towards Morgan, whose downcast eyes could only see the horrifying scene in the ambulance on repeat. The doctor continued undeterred._ _

__"We gave him a chest X-ray to check for signs of damage, but aside from some old scarring, we found nothing too concerning. We've given him some antibiotics to prevent any infections from spreading too. At present, we have him sedated to allow his lungs to recuperate. It will take some time for his lungs to fully heal and he will most likely experience some shortness of breath for a while, but I see no reason why he shouldn't make a full recovery."_ _

__"Can we see him?" Prentiss asked eagerly._ _

__"Normally, I wouldn't allow it as he needs to rest. But as I understand it, you have all had some very trying hours. You can't go in, but I can take you to see him."_ _

__She led them down the intersecting, busy hallways and up the elevator towards the trauma unit. The halls were dimly lit as it was still the early hours of the morning. As the doctor began slowing down when they neared a large plexiglass window, she explained,_ _

__"I have to warn you; Due to the severity of the smoke inhalation we had to intubate him until his lungs regain their functional strength. So, it can look more extreme that it actually is."_ _

__She stopped walking and allowed all six FBI agents to gather around the window and peek inside. It was true what she had said. The sight that greeted them was disheartening. Reid was lying on a hospital bed, a blanket drawn up to shelter him from the cold. He was surrounded by machines and wires, his lean body practically drowning under all the equipment. Most striking was the clear tube that had been forced down his throat, connected to the ventilator by the bedside that breathed for his lungs. The dark circles under his eyes were a stark contrast on his ashen face. The only comfort came from seeing his chest rise and fall in a steady rhythm. Morgan was suddenly no longer happy Jeffrey Michaels was dead. That man deserved to rot in hell for what he had done, and the FBI profiler felt disappointed anger that he hadn't been able to personally place him there. All he could hope for was that the burning that been painful._ _

__"I'll give you five minutes, alright?" the doctor informed as she started to move down the hall again._ _

__"Thank you, doctor," Hotch said after her. Then he turned to his team. They were all staring through the window at their unconscious teammate, their eyes filled with concern and longing. They looked utterly exhausted. The good news that Reid would pull through had left the unit chief spent as the adrenaline seemingly vanished from one second to the next. He suspected that was the same for his team. He cleared his throat delicately._ _

__"I know you all want to stay with Reid, but there's nothing we can do for him right now. Running ourselves into the ground isn't going to help anyone, especially not Reid. Go back to the hotel, get some sleep. Reid will still be here later."_ _

__He had anticipated the incredulous and stubborn looks that were now thrown his way, so it didn't faze him in the slightest. He leveled his stern eyes back at them. "It wasn't a request."_ _

__Rossi was the first to respond. With a quick, wry smile, he huffed out an almost inaudible laughter, like he knew something the rest of them didn't, and turned on his heel and began walking down the same hallway they had just come from. The rest soon followed suit, JJ lingering a second longer than the others, as she cast one last look into Reid's room. Only Morgan remained next to the team leader, his dark gaze never abandoning its watch over the genius on the other side of the glass._ _

__"The order included you," Hotch reminded him, though there was no stern demand in his tone._ _

__"I know. I think I'll stay, if you don't mind," Morgan countered flatly. The question for approval was clear in his words._ _

__"Alright," Hotch agreed knowingly. He knew his agent needed this. "I'll see you in the morning, then."_ _

__He started his course towards the exit in the other's footsteps but only made it a few steps before a thought struck him. He turned back and glanced at the profiler that was glued to the window. He called his name gently._ _

__When Morgan's head twisted in his direction, he said, "You did good work today."_ _

__He added the next bit with a hint of light humor and an easy smile. "Don't run into a burning building again."_ _


	9. While I Pray for Some Tranquility and Peace Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, we have come to the end. I want to thank all of you for your support! It warms my heart - makes me all giddy. Garcia-powered hug thrown your way!   
> Stay safe out there (and stay inside!)

The whooshing clicks of the ventilator echoed in the quiet room.

It had been 24 hours since they had been allowed into Reid's room and he had yet to regain consciousness or be taken off the ventilator. The doctors and nurses all assured Morgan that it was to be expected and that all his vitals read fine, even showing signs of improvement. The only improvement he could see was some of the color had returned to Reid's face in the past hours. Otherwise he remained oblivious and still as the ventilator continued forcing air into his depleted lungs. The dark circles were still present, hollowing out his youthful features and Morgan was once again struck by his young age and how often he could overlook it. It was always present, lurking somewhere in his subconscious but Reid constantly attempted to make all of them forget it by drawing attention to his memory and intellect instead. But he had never looked his age as much as he did right now, comatose on the bed.

Thin, white bandages encircled his wrists to cover the bruising and grazes left by the duct tape that had tied him to the chair. The burns that weren't concealed by the dotted hospital gown were left visible to breathe and heal. Aside from all the medical equipment, the ventilator breathing for him, the IVs inserted in his arm as well as on the back of his hand and the oximeter clipped onto his finger, he could have simply been sleeping with his closed eyes and the relaxed posture, that rarely existed when he was awake.

Though he knew the young profiler was no doubt at ease and resting comfortably, Morgan wished he would just wake up. It was a selfish desire; there would no doubt be pain and discomfort when he returned to the land of the living, but Morgan couldn't help the desperate need to know the man he considered his little brother was going to be alright. He settled further into the lounge chair he had pulled up next to the bed, his constant companion the past 24 hours. The rest of his team members had all let him have it, knowing this had hit him harder than it normally would have and that he needed the constant close proximity to Reid.

He flipped the next page of the new magazine Garcia had brought him, reading the articles without digesting anything of what they said. A slight ruffle and small, strangled gasp brought his attention straight back to the genius on the bed.

"Reid?"

He flew out of the chair, magazine falling forgotten to the floor, and leaned closer. Reid' eyes was moving restlessly behind the closed eyelids and his body started twitching agitatedly, while his hands had tightened around the blue blanket. Morgan quickly grabbed the nearest one, his own hands embracing the cold, pale limb, as he searched the sudden distraught expression that had come upon Reid's face. He pushed the nurses' button several times.

"Reid, it's okay. I'm right here, it's okay. I'm here, man," he kept repeating the words over and over, his voice low and soothing.

The frail trashing slowly ceased yet his eyes continued their fidgety movements. Morgan's heart clenched as he felt the thin fingers weakly wrap themselves around his own.

"You're okay. I'm here."

Elated relief soared in his chest, as he saw Reid gradually forcing his eyes open. Tired, hazel irises peeked out from beneath the heavy eyelids. They flickered aimlessly around until they landed on the hovering FBI agent, who couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. His joy increased as he saw clear recognition sparking in those lucid eyes, a far cry from the dazed look he and Hotch had gotten after he had pulled him from the fire.

"There's the genius I know," Morgan remarked happily, though Reid couldn't answer him.

He raised the hand that wasn't buried in Morgan's tight grip, apparently intent on removing the breathing tube in his throat. It barely lifted from the mattress before it collapsed back down, too weak to do much else, as his energy was already dissipating rapidly. Distress ignited in his widened eyes. The heart monitor's beeping spiked as his heart began to race and his clumsy, right hand flailed helplessly at his side.

"Reid, it's okay, it's there to help you breathe, relax," Morgan calmly said, tightening his hold on Reid's left hand, maintaining eye contact the whole time. "Look at me. It's okay."

Spencer visibly relaxed, though his urgent discomfort was still abundantly clear, his gaze never leaving Morgan's, even as nurses and doctors entered his room. One doctor immediately went to his bedside opposite of Morgan, clicked a couple of buttons on the ventilator and carefully examined the readouts. He turned to the ailing patient, choking and sputtering around the breathing tube.

"Dr. Reid, I'm going to remove the tube from your throat, but you need to relax. Can you do that for me?" he calmly and professionally stated, waiting until his patient gave a faint nod - the most he could manage.

Morgan had to release his friend as he was forced to step back and allow the medical staff to work. He watched as they pulled the breathing tube from Reid's throat, the profiler hacking and choking as the long tube was removed. Morgan cleared his throat uncomfortably at the sight. The doctor made several more tests and procedures until he finally fitted Reid with a nasal cannula to provide extra oxygen and gestured to the oxygen tank and attached mask by the bed in case it became too difficult for him to breathe.

The staff milled out of the room, one by one and Morgan was eventually allowed back onto his chair next to the hospital bed. He eased himself back into it as Reid followed his movements lazily.

Morgan regarded him with cautious hopefulness. "How you're feeling, kid?"

"Tired," came the croaked response. His timid voice was raw and barely audible. He winced as his abused throat pulled painfully.

Morgan quickly handed him a cup of water and a straw, holding the cup steady as Reid's hands shook with the strain. He leaned back into his pillows when he was done with a deep, weary sigh.

"Where's the others?" he asked after a few beats of silence, his voice already a little stronger and steadier.

"Hotch is finishing up with the police, while the others are back at the hotel, packing. Don't worry, Pretty Boy, you won't escape their cuddles for long," Morgan answered with a smirk. He knew how much Reid hated being the center of attention, especially if he was hurt. "Garcia is probably raiding the gift shop as we speak."

Morgan knew Reid viewed concern as being babied and the younger man predictably rolled his eyes at the statement.

He attempted to settle into a comfortable position, wincing as he turned and twisted, eventually ending up in the exact position he had started in. His eyes zoned out as he became lost in his own thoughts. Morgan suspected it wasn't only physical unease that troubled the young profiler. He certainly could relate to that.

"Ashes and dust…" the words came so suddenly and were so quiet, Morgan almost missed them. He frowned at Reid, who was staring sightlessly ahead.

"What?"

It seemed to pull Reid out of his reverie, and he looked almost shocked that he had said it out loud. He tried to cover it up with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders and small shake of his head. "It's nothing. Forget it."

"Come on, man. I've stayed in this uncomfortable chair for days, the least you can do is talk to me," Morgan gently coaxed.

With nothing else to do, Reid fiddled nervously with the threads of his blanket as he contemplated his options. In the end, he seemed to comprehend he couldn't get out of it. Morgan looked at him expectedly.

"It was the last thing Jeffrey Michaels said before he stepped into the fire: ashes and dust. I think he finally realized that he could never regain control."

Morgan breathed a heavy sigh. "Michaels felt he had lost control when he kidnapped you. We pushed him into the decision and with you, he probably saw an opportunity for people finally to see him as he was; for him to go out exactly the way he imagined it."

"I just wish he hadn't dragged me into his delusions," Reid muttered as he grimaced in pain.

Morgan puffed a short involuntary laugh at the small jest. But the corners of his mouth quickly turned downwards again as his thoughts raced. _Yeah, me too… ___

__He was too caught up on those guilt-ridden reflections that he didn't notice Reid searching his features at the response, quickly picking up on his musings._ _

__"I never got to thank you for saving me," the young genius stated then, a grateful smile stretching at his lips._ _

__Morgan looked up then, surprised. He didn't think Reid would be able to recall the events of his rescue, given he had hardly appeared lucid in the few minutes he had been conscious. "You remember that?"_ _

__"No," Reid confessed, some of his quirky confidence returning to his eyes. "But your voice is hoarser, and you have a small burn on your upper arm that looks like mine, and I didn't think you would've been near any other fires recently. And you're the type to run into burning buildings."_ _

__Morgan couldn't help the grin that appeared on his face or the gentle, deep laugh that erupted from his throat at the small deduction that was so Reid-like in its perception and presentation it instantly relaxed his mind that had been running on overdrive the last 72 hours._ _

__"Okay, Mr. Smarty-pants. You're welcome."_ _

__The normality and the easiness that flooded into the conversation as their usual banter had returned so quickly, served to immediately wash away the gnawing survivor's guilt that had buried itself into the pit of his stomach. He had meant it, what he said to Hotch. That he knew blaming himself for what happened wouldn't help anyone, but that deep cutting feeling was difficult to get away from, no matter how much logic you threw at it. It was only now that it seemed to vanish; that it truly disappeared. Apparently, Spencer-Reid-logic was the only logic capable of breaking through that otherwise unbreakable wall. And Morgan wouldn't have it any other way._ _

__A comfortable silence stretched on between the two FBI agents, both slowly coming to terms with what had happened out there._ _

__Then Reid's small voice gingerly broke it._ _

__"Do you think they have any Jell-O here?"_ _

___\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_  
" _You must learn to let go. Release the stress. You were never in control anyway. _" – Steve Maraboli  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------__


End file.
